“Very, I think, but I have not seen much of her yet. They were left badly off and she has taken to the stage to help her mother. She has only just joined this company, so we are in the same box.” After this Evereld watched with keen interest the progress of the play. It seemed to her that Macneillie was almost an ideal instructor. His patience was marvellous and his criticism though sometimes keen was always kindly. When the sheep-shearing scene began and Florizel and Perdita with no helpful accessories had to go through their love-making, while the working of a sewing-machine and the hammering of carpenters and the scrubbing of the charwomen could be plainly heard, Evereld realised more than she had ever done before the prosaic nature of some aspects of an actor’s life. Macneillie was as fidgetty as any dancing master about the precise way in which his arm should encircle her waist. Degville himself could not have laid more stress on the importance of every attitude, and when it came to the part where Florizel claimed Perdita as his bride in the presence of the disguised Polixenes he was promptly pulled up in the utterance of the words: “I take thy hand, this hand, as soft as dove’s down and as white as it.” “Don’t take her hand as if you were taking a jam tart at a confectioner’s,” exclaimed Macneillie. And over and over again that particular bit had to be rehearsed until it was precisely to the Manager’s mind. Finally a diversion was made by the arrival, long after the time when they should have put in an appearance, of a few members of the orchestra. In a leisurely way, as though they were conferring a great favour on the actors, they began to tune up, the pretty dance of shepherds and shepherdesses was rehearsed, and Bride and Evereld found themselves longing to join in it. “I really wonder,” said Bride as they walked home, “that you dare to take me to such a beguiling place, Doreen. Don’t you expect me to be stage-struck?” “There might be some danger if you only saw the performances,” said Mrs. Hereford laughing, “but I doubt if you would stand many rehearsals. You would certainly be fined every day for unpunctuality.” “It must be a weary grind,” said Bride yawning. “One would have to love one’s art very absorbingly to be able to endure such endless repetition. I suppose that is the difference between an artist and an ordinary mortal. An artist never grudges trouble, the dullest little touches here and there all have an interest for him.” “Certainly, if he is worth his salt,” said Mrs. Hereford. “That’s what Flo will have to learn if she is to develop as I hope into a singer.” “Well,” said Bride good-humouredly, “I have only just enough energy for ordinary life, so I will stick to being an ordinary mortal. And you keep me company, Evereld. We will make the appreciative audiences for the others. What is the fun of acting or singing if there is no one to applaud.”